Guide & Guardian
by Phantomstar07
Summary: Spinoff from the end of the 2004 movie: an Italian orphan befriendsfalls in love with Erik's adopted son. R&R!
1. The Auction

**Guide and Guardian**

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own Phantom of the Opera, however much I would love to. This story is a spin-off of the 2004 movie. _

**Chapter I – The Auction**

Autumn leaves swirled as seventeen-year-old Isabella made her way down the chilly streets of Paris. She glanced at the surrounding buildings, all wholly unfamiliar, and tugged her tattered cloak closer around her shoulders. _Where is the Opera House?_ She stopped a passing man to ask directions. He looked her up and down before answering, and Isabella knew why: Her dark skin and black hair immediately signaled that she was Italian, but the tattered cloak and worn mauve dress gave the distinct impression of a gypsy or prostitute.

A carriage bearing an impressive golden coat of arms rumbled slowly past, and he pointed after it. "Follow the carriage; they are selling the remaining artifacts of the Opera today." She thanked him and set off back the way she'd come. The carriage's destination was not far away, and she barely had to jog to keep up. It came to an abrupt halt and Isabella looked around eagerly, but they had stopped in front of the most broken-down building in all of Paris. Had the man been wrong? Isabella glanced at the door and saw a torn banner rippling in the slight breeze. 'Paris Opera House – Auction Today'. No, this was the place. She regarded the Opera House with a mixture of confusion and disappointment. Years before, this had been one of the most talked-about places in France. As a child, Isabella had dreamed of studying ballet at the world-renowned Opera Garnier, to become rich and famous. She had made her way alone from the small town of Salerno to the French border. Stopping at local cafés for shelter, she was quickly introduced to the mystical tales of the Phantom of the Opera. Isabella loved stories of all kinds, and learned as much as she could about the legendary musician. The best part of the stories was that everything the Phantom did just happened to occur at the Garnier Opera.

She stood gazing at the opera house now, and realized that it was just another broken building in the enormous City of Lights. Damp, derelict, and sporting a huge burned-out hole in the roof, the opera was hardly an object of glory.

Isabella came out of her reverie with a start: two people from the carriage were setting an older gentleman's wheelchair on the cobblestone. He was slightly hunched with age, but she noticed his sharp, bright eyes. The man's servants wheeled him slowly through the door, and Isabella scurried to follow them.

The auctioneer's gavel sounded harsh and commanding compared to the dreariness outside. A small group of people was clustered around the auctioneer, who had just sold a poster from the 1870 production of _Hannibal_ to an older woman.

"Lot number 665, ladies and gentlemen," he called out, plowing on. "A papier-mache musical box; attached, the figure of a monkey in Persian robes and playing the cymbals. This item was discovered in the basements of the opera, still in working order." One of the assisting porters held the music box for all to see, and turned the crank to set it in motion. An almost haunting tune filled the room, and the man next to Isabella watched it with almost suspicious incredulity from his wheelchair.

"Starting at twenty francs," said the auctioneer. "Twenty-five, thank you Madame Giry" – the woman had raised a hand – "thirty" – the older gent nodded to his aides, one of whom raised a hand as well – "thirty-five, then, Madame?" the auctioneer challenged. The older woman looked the gentleman intently in the eye and shook her head slightly. The auctioneer pounded his gavel. "Sold for thirty francs to Monsieur le Vicomte de Chagny. _Merci beaucoup_, sir." Isabella watched the Vicomte as he carefully examined his new treasure. A quiet light came into his dark eyes, and she sensed that this small novelty held some special secret for him.

Their attention snapped back to the auctioneer, who was continuing: "Lot 666, a chandelier in pieces. Now, some of our older generation may be able to recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera. We are told that this is the very chandelier that was destroyed and sent this entire building up in flames. Our workshops have restored it, and fitted parts of it with wiring for the electric light. Perhaps we may frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination…

"Gentlemen?" he gestured, and an enormous drop cloth was whipped away. Sparks flew, and Isabella turned to watch several men raising the enormous gold-and-crystal masterpiece. A gust of wind blew through the room, and Isabella began to think her imagination was overreacting. She now saw the opera house restored to its former glory: the dust was wiped from the velvet seats, the cobwebs brushed from the elegant statues. Lamps sprang to life and the stage was suddenly polished.

From far away, she could hear a voice, "…thank you for coming, everyone…"

Isabella spun around. The auction was over, and people were beginning to straggle out the door. The Opera House was as ragged and decrepit as ever. She noticed the elderly woman, Madame Giry, speaking with the Vicomte. She wandered a bit closer to catch what they were saying.

"…so sorry about Christine, Monsieur, she was an excellent singer and a very unique dancer. You and she helped create a very lasting legacy for this Opera House."

"Thank you very much, Madame Giry," he nodded appreciatively and his aides slowly wheeled him toward the door.

Isabella quietly followed him out, wondering what to do now. She would have liked to see where Christine was buried, but she knew it would be inappropriate. Graves were not tourist sites. On the other hand, she also wanted to know (purely out of curiosity this time) what the Vicomte was going to do with the music box. She decided to follow him; the carriage moved slowly, and there was no doubt in her mind that she could keep up.

**Okay, first chapter down. Review quickly! I've got lots more chapters if you like this! **


	2. The Cemetery

**Disclaimer: I don't own PotO. I own Isabella and Adrien (you'll meet him eventually), and the storyline.**

**Chapter II – The Cemetery**

So it was that Isabella found herself following the Vicomte's carriage through several narrow, twisting avenues to an old Parisian cemetery outside the Sacré-Cœur chapel. As the Vicomte and his aides carefully approached the center of the burial grounds, Isabella glanced around at the markers. Several were ornate, with decorative swirls as edging, while others were barely raised above the leaf-strewn ground. She peeked around to see where the small procession was headed and saw two enormous mausoleums side by side. She couldn't believe that one of these was Christine's tomb. It seemed fit for royalty, not an opera singer, however popular she was.

Isabella ducked behind one of the ornately decorated gravestones, the better to see and not be seen. Peering around the cold marble, she watched as the Vicomte was assisted in standing from his wheelchair. He staggered forward and placed the monkey-topped music box on the steps to one mausoleum. Looking up, Isabella realized that this was Christine's resting place. She glanced at the other, rather larger one to the left and saw that it belonged to a man called Gustave Daae. _Must be her father._

There was a sudden rustle of leaves, but… Isabella looked around. There was no wind, not even a slight breeze. She glanced at the Vicomte, who was looking around as well. Someone was here; someone who also did not want to be seen. Isabella saw the black hem of a cloak flick around one of the gravestones near her hiding place and decided to find out who it was and why they were sneaking around.

She gave the Vicomte a last look; he was surveying the gravestones closer to Christine's mausoleum. Isabella moved quietly through the cemetery (silence was impossible with leaves fluttering everywhere), and caught a glimpse of a man turning the corner to an alley. She raced after him and skidded to a halt as she reached the alley. It was an old man, older than the Vicomte, (yet he, unlike the Vicomte, still retained his one-sided good looks) and he was striding toward a small nook in the wall. Isabella walked up behind him and he jumped as she asked, "Who are you?"


	3. The Storyteller's Labyrinth

**Disclaimer: Don't own PotO. Two main characters are mine, and the plot.**

**Chapter III – The Storyteller's Labyrinth**

The man jumped and spun around, and Isabella had to stifle a shriek. The right side of his face was completely deformed. His right eye was sunken, he was missing an eyebrow, and half his nose was mangled. The man regarded her with fear and suspicion, and she stared into his blue eyes. "Who are you?" she repeated, transfixed.

"What concern is that of yours?" he spat back, hastily covering his face with a hand.

She was startled by his anger. "Sir, I'm very sorry. Were you there because you needed to speak with the Vicomte?"

He was still glaring at her. "I want nothing more to do with that man." He seemed to relive memories, because his eyes became suddenly unfocused and he muttered, "If only… If only she had been mine, she would not have died at this age… She would have lived to surpass me, certainly…"

Isabella looked at him. His eyes were pools of grief and loss. _He must be talking about Christine. But why would she have 'been his'?_ _Maybe he's crazy and just admires her._

The old man snapped out of his reverie and looked around at her. "Don't you have something better to do than listen to an old man gripe about his lost love?" "No, monsieur," she said quietly. "But if you want to go on, I'll gladly listen."

He considered her for a moment. Isabella had never been so interested in anything except the legends of the Phantom. He told her about how Christine had come to the Opera House and he had taught her to sing. Isabella became excited listening to his tales, especially ones like the lead soprano becoming a toad, or his daring swordfight in the cemetery. He himself seemed to enjoy the fact that she also thought the toad story amusing.

Eventually the story reached a part where it was difficult for her to discern whether the man was making it all up or not. He was saying he'd taken Christine to his home and burned the Opera House to its current state. She looked into his eyes, to see if she could tell whether or not he was lying. He stared back. She gave up.

"Come with me," he said. Isabella followed him into the hole in the wall and, to her surprise, down a set of old stone steps.

"Please monsieur, forgive me for intruding, I shouldn't have followed you." It had grown dark, as they were heading underground, and she had lost sight of him.

"Do you have a place to stay for the night?" His voice reverberated off the walls ahead of her.

"No."

"Then keep walking."

"Sir, where does this lead?"

"This passage leads to many places. I daresay my home may not be the best in the world, but by the look of you, my dear, you would probably be comfortable anywhere."

Isabella blushed slightly; her ragged appearance was due to the fact that everything in her parents' home had been sold after they died. She had only the clothes on her back and it was then that she decided to see if she could make it in Paris. Remembering her family brought pain in her heart, so Isabella concentrated on following this man who, Isabella realized, had never told her his name.

Isabella's rational side began to kick in: _What are you doing, following this strange man? You don't even know who he is! You don't know what he'll do to you once you get to his home!_

Isabella came back to reality just in time to stop before crashing into her guide.

"Almost there," he said, and opened a door on their right.

_This place is a labyrinth! I bet it goes under the entire city!_

They walked in silence down a stone tunnel, with old wooden doors on either side.

"Sir, how many people live down here?" she asked, looking at all the doors and realizing that the entire tunnel was silent.

"Just two people, with one guest," he answered. "You'll meet the other resident when we arrive."

"Where do all these doors lead?" Curiosity was getting the better of her today, and his reply was the same as before: "Many places."

They had come to an old rotting ladder. He gestured for her to go first, saying, "Be careful on some of the rungs. This has been here for years, and water and termites have somewhat mangled it." She nodded and ascended into a room lit with only a few candles, which cast shadows across an enormous black piano in the corner.

The man appeared beside her, and he led her out of the room to another one, which was rather larger. There was a polished old wooden table, and red and black velvet curtains hanging from the walls. A young man around seventeen or eighteen was straightening a few of the old photographs on a wall not covered by red or black.

"Everything is as you wanted it to be arranged," he said, having heard them coming. He turned and stopped, seeing Isabella, and looked to the older man for an answer.

"Adrien, I found this young lady in the alley as I was coming home and she is staying with us for awhile," he said, smiling gently at her.

Adrien kissed her hand. "An honor, miss…" "Isabella," she said quickly. "I'm so sorry to intrude like this, but your father insisted I stay with you for the night."

An awkward silence fell. Then Adrien said, "Erik is not my father, but I can see why you would come to that conclusion, obviously." "Adrien's parents named me his godfather, but his mother was a singer at the Opera Populaire and they didn't want everyone to know they had a child. He was put in my charge and has been ever since," Erik said.


	4. The Mask

**Disclaimer: I don't own PotO! I want to but I don't! I own Adrien and Isabella!**

**Chapter IV – The Mask**

Erik had covered his face again, it seemed, when they had reached the room above the ladder. Adrien noticed this and picked up a stark white half-mask lying on the table. "Erik, I can't believe you forgot this. You've never forgotten it before. Of course, you've only been out a few other times, but still…" His voice trailed off, and Erik replaced the mask on his face.

Isabella looked at him, now with the mask on. Things were so strange… In the stories she'd heard about the Phantom of the Opera, he had had a disfigured face. _He_ had worn a white half-mask to conceal it. _He_ had had an enormous organ to play. Could it be… Could Erik be the Phantom? _No,_ she told herself, _no, the Phantom was years ago…_ Perhaps Erik was simply disfigured in the same (however coincidental) way? Perhaps he, too, had heard the stories (_or maybe,_ she thought, _lived through the time_) and bought the mask at an auction similar to the one she had seen today? Isabella knew this would mean a set of highly unlikely circumstances and twists of fate, but Erik just didn't seem the type of person to have been a man capable of murder, seduction, or any of the things the Phantom had done.

Admittedly, his age was disconcerting all in itself, but he also seemed too gruff (among other things) to have been a man sleeping with a seventeen-year-old girl, however many years ago it was.

"Isabella?" Adrien stared into her eyes. "Is everything alright?"

She came back to reality with a start. "Yes, I'm fine."

He smiled. "Come with me; there's a room you can have. And we've got plenty of clothes and things, so you can change out of that if you want to."

"Thank you so much," she said, and followed him through the room with the piano and back down the ladder.


	5. The Piano

**Disclaimer: I don't own Erik or PotO. Just Adrien and Isabella… how many times must I say that?**

**Chapter V – The Piano**

Isabella's voice broke through the cool dampness of the underground tunnels.

"How do you find your way around down here? Everything looks exactly the same."

She heard Adrien ahead of her; his voice echoed slightly in the gloom.

"I've had about fifteen years to learn to recognize small things people normally don't see," he explained. "This ladder, in particular, is the only one that's started rotting already. There are others, one entrance built as stone steps, one built as a rope ladder, a few with trapdoors, and other things like that."

Isabella figured she would give him the benefit of the doubt; they all looked the same to her, no matter what he said. She was careful to keep close behind him so as not to get lost in this maze.

She didn't know how far they were going, and in any case it was too quiet, so she struck up a small conversation. "Do you play that big piano in the smaller room?"

He hesitated. "Not usually; Erik plays it all the time. He can play amazing things, and I lie in bed and listen to him. He stays up all night sometimes, playing. I think it helps him remember the way things were, at the Opera Populaire. I play sometimes, but only if he's gone out. He keeps all the music he plays in the bench, but some of it is too complicated for me. Do you play?"

"No, I never learned. I sing, though," she added, as if this would make up for it.

"I would love to hear it. I assume Erik told you his stories, about Christine? That's why he brought you with him."

She was startled. "Yes; some of them I didn't really believe to be true." She paused. "Are they all true?"

"Yes, as far as I know," he said quietly. "Usually, if he remembers Christine that much, he'll play and sing to her at night. Listen tonight when you go to bed; his voice, however old and tired it may seem, takes on a life of its own when he sings. It's… like nothing I've heard. It goes back across the years and gives me the feeling that he can do anything. I've wanted to meet her, see what Erik saw in her…" He trailed off, and a sinking feeling came into Isabella's stomach.

_He doesn't know…_ But then, she shouldn't know either… Who was she to tell him this? Should she even tell him? She took a deep breath and said, "Adrien, I'm sorry… Christine is dead."

He spun around. "_What?_"

She looked into his eyes. "I was at her grave this morning, before I met Erik. And then he told me his stories, and I couldn't believe them, because she was dead."

"Does he know? Was he there as well?"

"Yes, he knows. He left the cemetery when the Vicomte de Chagny arrived. He was her husband, and Erik didn't want to see him."

Adrien walked faster down the hall, flung open a door on their left, and ushered her in. "I just wanted to make sure he, of all people, knew she was gone. Here," he said, handing her a black velvet dressing gown. "Now you need something for daytime." And he was off through racks of trousers and jackets. At the very back of the room, he called to her.

"Isabella, I think I've found something."


	6. The Dress

**Disclaimer: I own Adrien and Isabella… not PotO.**

**Chapter VI – The Dress**

Isabella hurried back to him, wondering if he had found a skirt or dress or just something a man would wear, in her size. After all, seeing as how only Adrien and Erik lived down here, there was no reason to have women's clothing. She gasped when she saw the rack of dresses along the back wall.

"Oh, Adrien, where did all these come from?" she gave him a disbelieving look, as if this was all a hallucination. Adrien hesitated. "Actually, I don't know," he confessed. "I was looking for something for you… I never knew these were here."

"Are you sure you two are the only people who live down here?" She knew this question must be getting annoying, but she didn't care.

Adrien was trying to piece everything together. "Isabella, I am 200 certain no-one else lives here," he snapped. He traced the embroidery of one intricate design. "But… Erik… _ah mon Dieu_…" "What?" Isabella asked. She was not ignorant of French expressions. "What is it?"

He spoke quickly, still putting things together. "Erik… Erik always loved her… always… He must have bought these for her. These were Christine's… Wait!"

Isabella had gone to take one off the rack, but backed away to let him examine them. Adrien found the left sleeve of the dress Isabella was looking at and pulled a small tag gently into the light. "What does it say?" She read over his shoulder:

1000 francs

Worn January 29

Opera House burning

Christine Daae

1882

"1000 francs? And he bought this for her?" said Isabella in disbelief. "He was paid 20,000 francs a month for around 40 years," Adrien shrugged. Isabella seized another tag. "Adrien, look at this one:

1350 francs

Worn October 18

_Hannibal_ gala

Christine Daae

1881

"This is beautiful!" she cried. "Isabella, these are all gorgeous," Adrien agreed. "But I'm not sure Erik would like seeing you in something he bought for Christine. Not that it wouldn't look stunning," he added hastily, seeing the expression of disappointment on her face.

They heard a door slam, and Erik appeared through the racks, a look of utmost anger on his face at the gown in Isabella's arms.

**French: Ah mon Dieu: OMG **


	7. The Phantom of the Opera

**Disclaimer: Don't own PotO… just Adrien and Isabella…**

**Chapter VII – The Phantom of the Opera**

Erik strode forward and Isabella backed away. She flinched at his cool touch (even through his leather gloves), but he gently caressed the material, removing it from her arms. His eyes blazed with unshed tears, but he hid them as he replaced the dress on its rack.

"I'm sorry, _mon chère_," he said, turning to face her. "But this rack is completely off-limits." He swept off down the rows and returned a moment later with a slightly faded emerald gown. "You may, however, use this during the extent of your stay."

Isabella took it from him. She had never seen anything so beautiful in her life. She fingered the pearls around the neckline, the rich embroidery of the sleeves, and the dark, velvety texture. Glancing up to say thank you, she realized she hadn't heard him leave. She looked at Adrien, slightly annoyed.

"Why does he always leave right before I can say anything?" she asked. "That's his way," Adrien explained simply. "In a part of his mind, he still enjoys the fact that his cape allows him to sweep in and out of places undetected, like…"

He cut himself off. He had nearly told her Erik's secret, and if Erik knew that she knew what he was, Adrien would have been dead before he hit the floor. But now, Isabella was watching him eagerly.

"Like what?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Never mind," he said brusquely. "Erik would kill me if he found out I'd told you…" He wandered down the racks, muttering to himself, _"Très stupide, très, très stupide…"_

Isabella followed him. "So… does that mean he's… I mean, is he really the…"

Adrien spun around. "I'm not saying anything. Go ask Erik what you think he is."

She was surprised at his brusque manner. "Alright… Alright, fine. I will."

She turned to leave and stopped dead. He glanced up, and she gave him an apologetic look. "But first, help me find the way back."

Isabella and Adrien finally returned from their clothing excursion and Isabella stood rooted to the spot, trying to get her bearings of the place. Adrien had brought her back a different way, so they didn't end up where they'd started from. Strains of piano chords reached their ears as they wandered through the rooms, and Isabella took off in search of Erik.

She found him ((where else?)) at the piano, playing a bit of Mozart with furious intensity. She listened for a moment, then moved around in front to get his attention. He stopped playing abruptly. "I didn't hear you return," he said, surprised. "Well, it's no wonder," she eyed the piano. "You were playing a little too loud to be hearing anything over it."

He raised an eyebrow. "Surely you didn't interrupt me to simply say that I play too loudly?"

"No," she admitted. "Erik, I really don't know how to ask this, but…" She took a deep breath and prayed that he wouldn't explode.

"_Vous étés le Fantôme_ ?" she asked in timid French. Erik's eyes widened, and his mouth opened slightly. He didn't answer right away.

"_Oui_," he said finally. "How did you know?" Isabella edged closer to him. "I heard the stories when I reached France's border, and then you retold almost the exact same ones. The Phantom wore a mask, and on the night of the… disaster, he vanished. Since I'd heard them before, I thought you were just another storyteller, one who really admired Christine."

Erik stared moodily at the sheet music in front of him. Without a glance at Isabella, he swept the pages to the floor and sat with his hands over his face. Isabella backed toward the door, fully intending to leave Erik to his thoughts when he sat up straighter and she saw his fingers on the keys.

She froze in the doorway as he began playing the four measures of an introduction. His rich, seasoned tenor filled the room, and she floated into a world of complete, careless bliss. The melody was that of a hypnotic, haunting lullaby:

_Nighttime sharpens,_

_Heightens each sensation_

_Darkness stirs_

_And wakes imagination_

_Silently the senses_

_Abandon their defenses_

His hands moved as gracefully across the keys as a dancer on the stage.

_Slowly, gently,_

_Night unfurls its splendor_

_Grasp it, sense it,_

_Tremulous and tender_

_Turn your face away_

_From the garish light of day_

_Turn your thoughts away_

_From cold, unfeeling light_

_And listen to the music of the night_

Isabella was contemplating singing a few harmony notes when one hand covered her mouth and another gently tugged at her own.

**French: Tres stupide very/really stupid (like you couldn't have guessed)**

**Vous etes le Fantome? Are you the Phantom? (Duh)**

**These are pretty basic in terms of translations for me, but then again I'm in French III this year. Enjoy and review!**


	8. The Music of the Night

**Disclaimer: Don't own PotO… just Adrien and Isabella…**

**Chapter VIII – The Music of the Night**

Isabella nearly screamed. ((But she did get in a good backwards kick – never mind.)) She spun around. Adrien had let go of her and was kneeling on the floor in pain. He shook his head, stood, and pulled her gently down the hall. (Erik, being in his own little musical-bubble as he was, noticed nothing.)

((Sorry, it was too perfect. I couldn't resist.))

When they had made it to another room, Adrien immediately collapsed in the nearest armchair. Isabella had covered her mouth with a hand after kicking him. "I-I'm so sorry, Adrien, I didn't know it was you. Are you alright?"

He sighed. "I suppose, but next time, try to show a little reflex control." She nodded, and heard Erik switch to a different song, with a more upbeat, dancy melody. "What did you want, anyway?"

"Well, you were standing in the doorway about to break his spell. What I mean," he added quickly, seeing the look on her face, "is that whenever Erik plays Music of the Night, he goes into a sort of trance, and then sometimes he starts playing other songs. If _anything_, any singing, talking, loud noise is around, he snaps out of it. I didn't want that to happen, because he can still sing wonderfully."

Indeed, the strains of Angel of Music now flowed to them, accompanied by Erik's rich baritone.

Isabella sighed. "I could listen to that voice forever."

Adrien smiled. "Most nights he plays until I fall asleep, and that can be pretty late sometimes."

She giggled, and they both got to their feet.

"Your room is just down the tunnelway. I'll show you." He disappeared again down the ladder, candle in hand. She followed, not wanting Erik's music to leave her ears.

They climbed a set of stone steps near the ladder, and ascended into a room filled with small tables and candelabras, which Adrien lit carefully. A comfortable bed with linen sheets stood in the middle of the room.

Isabella placed her new gown on a chair and went about examining this small domain. The candelabras gave an almost spooky effect, casting shadows on the walls in time with Erik's music.

Adrien moved to leave. "My room is the next ladder up," he said. "In case you have need of me. _Bonne nuit_." And he left.

Isabella quickly put on the dressing gown and snuggled under the covers. It was a little chilly, but she didn't mind. After spending so long without a proper bed, she was thankful for anything. A haunting, horror-like melody floated through the walls, and Erik sang as if his heart would break again: _"Sing once again with me, our strange duet…"_

Isabella fell asleep with the Phantom's anthem in her mind, heart, and soul.

**I sincerely hope that those of you reading this have a basic knowledge and grasp of the French language, but for those of you who don't, here's a translation:**

**Bonne nuit Good night **


	9. The Undiscovered Talent

**Disclaimer: Don't own PotO… just Adrien and Isabella…**

**Chapter IX – The Undiscovered Talent**

Isabella woke up the next morning trying to remember the last time she'd been this comfortable. She stumbled sleepily from the bed, almost fell down the stone steps, and staggered drunkenly into the central sitting room. Adrien was studying a few pages of music, and Erik was nowhere to be seen. He looked up when she plopped into an armchair and smiled. "Have a good sleep?"

She glanced over at him. His eyes sparkled in the candlelight. She nodded, waking up considerably. "Where's Erik? Does he sleep this late?" He looked her up and down as well. "No, he's gone out again. He mentioned something about finding you something more suitable for daytime wearing." Isabella tried not to blush.

"Erm… could we play the piano, since he isn't here?" she asked, to cover the awkward moment. "Of course," Adrien stood rather quickly, and they went down the hall. He seated himself on the piano bench and looked at her.

"What shall we play, or in your case, sing?" he asked. Isabella thought for a moment. "How about one of the songs Erik was playing last night?" she suggested. Adrien hesitated. "There were many songs Erik played last night," he said slowly. "I believe he went through his entire repertoire of Opera House memory musings. Shall I list a few?"

"That depends on how many of them you can play," Isabella giggled. "And would you happen to have the words? I'm a quick study, but I need to follow along once before I start."

Adrien started listing songs as he glanced over the sheets piled around them. "_'Music of the Night', 'Masquerade', 'Angel of Music'_…" he trailed off, trying to remember. "_Point of No Return,_" he let slip. Isabella stared at him. "And of course, his anthem, _Phantom of the Opera,_" he finished, slightly red.

Isabella decided to pretend she hadn't heard the next-to-last one. "That's all?" she asked. "Well," he said, "there's _'Think of Me'_, but that's definite soprano-range. What do you sing?"

"Mezzo-soprano."

"You just might be able to do it," he said, carefully extracting two sheets of paper from a pile on the floor. "Want to give it a try?"

"I've never heard it before. I fell asleep before Erik played it last night."

Adrien gave her a look. "He never plays that song. I said it was soprano-range, remember?"

Isabella grimaced at her stupidity. "Okay, fine. Let's do it."

Adrien played the song through once, giving her clues like, "Here's the four-measure intro, and you start… now… ...and there you have to go as high as the piano did… and that's all. Think you can do it?" he grinned at her.

"I think so," she nodded.

"Okay, four measure intro coming up again…" he started the song again and Isabella came in:

_Think of me,_

_Think of me fondly_

_When we've said good-bye_

_Remember me,_

_Once in a while_

_Please promise me you'll try_

_When you find_

_That once again you long_

_To take your heart back and be free_

_If you ever find a moment,_

_Spare a thought for me_

_We never said our love was evergreen_

_Or as unchanging as the sea,_

_But if you can still remember,_

_Stop and think of me_

_Think of all the things we've shared and seen_

_Don't think about the way things might have been_

_Think of me,_

_Think of me waking_

_Silent and resigned_

_Imagine me,_

_Trying too hard_

_To put you from my mind_

_Recall those days,_

_Look back on all those times,_

_Think of the things we'll never do_

_There will never be a day_

_When I won't think of you!_

"Can it be?" Adrien entered. "Can it be Christine?" He looked her in the eye and said quietly, "Bravo…

_Long ago,_

_It seems so long ago_

_How young and innocent we were_

_She may not remember me,_

_But I remember her…"_

_Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade,_

_They have their seasons, so do we,_

_But please promise me that sometimes,_

_You will think… of me!_

Adrien barely finished the piece correctly. _She's good… Really good… To hit the high notes in that cadenza…_ But all he said was, "That sounded great, Isabella." She smiled at him. "Will you teach me another song? I haven't sung like that in ages; it felt… so good."

"What have we here?"

Erik stood shrouded in black in the doorway.

**Okay, personally, I loved the way this chapter turned out. I think I took some weird essence of Snape for that last line about Erik, but it's a nice touch. And a cliffie. Review!**


	10. The Protegee

**Disclaimer: Don't own PotO… just Adrien and Isabella…**

**Chapter X – The Protégée**

Adrien turned to explain, but Isabella beat him to it. "Adrien was teaching me a song." Erik raised an eyebrow at her. "Really? Which one, pray tell?"

"_Think of Me_."

"Adrien, how do you know that song?" He regarded Adrien with surprise and suspicion.

"I found it under a bunch of other music." Adrien was trying to figure out if Erik would be angry or just surprised. Isabella jumped to his defense.

"Erik, please don't be angry. Adrien can play so beautifully," she said, her eyes pleading.

He looked at them both, Adrien looking worried on the piano bench, Isabella upset beside him.

He sighed. "Let's hear it, then."

Isabella stood slowly. "Did you want to hear _Think of Me_ or something else?" she asked politely.

"I'd love to hear you try _Phantom of the Opera_ as a duet." ((Slight sarcasm.))

Isabella glanced at Adrien. "Is there a sheet with words I could use?" she asked uncertainly. He started looking through piles, but Erik swept over to the piano and gently retrieved four sheets of music for Adrien and two for Isabella. "Yours has words," he gestured to her. "And Adrien's has words plus the piano music."

Adrien looked over the piece. "Erik, maybe you'd better play it, and we could sing…"

"I suppose… How long have you been playing anyway?"

"Every day when you go out."

Erik raised his eyebrows again, but seated himself at the piano without comment.

The six-bar intro erupted from the instrument with such force that Isabella was taken aback.

_In sleep, he sang to me_

_In dreams, he came_

_That voice which calls to me _

_And speaks my name_

_And do I dream again?_

_For now I find_

_The Phantom of the Opera is there_

_Inside my mind_

Adrien's strong tenor seemed to hypnotize her. She listened to his words and shivered slightly.

_Sing once again with me,_

_Our strange duet_

_My power over you_

_Grows stronger yet_

_And though you turn from me_

_To glance behind,_

_The Phantom of the Opera is there_

_Inside your mind_

Isabella saw Erik's lips move as Adrien sang. _This is his anthem, his masterpiece…_

_Those who have seen your face_

_Draw back in fear_

_I am the mask you wear…_

_It's me they hear…_ Adrien's voice interwove seamlessly with hers.

_Your spirit and my voice…_

_In one combined_

_The Phantom of the Opera is there_

_Inside my mind_

_In all your fantasies_

_You always knew_

_That man and mystery_

_Were both in you_

_And in this labyrinth_

_Where night is blind_

_The Phantom of the Opera is there_

_Inside your mind…_

"Sing_, mon ange_!"

_He's there, the Phantom of the Opera…_

"_Chante…_"

"_Chante pour moi _!"

Erik was slightly interrupted from his piano-playing bliss as he realized that it was indeed not Christine singing. Isabella may have been a mezzo-soprano, but she brought the higher notes of this piece down an octave. Snapping out of his momentary shock, Erik kept playing. Adrien hadn't noticed anything, that was for sure. During the song, he had taken Isabella's hands from behind, and now held her close to him.

"_Chante pour moi…_" he whispered in her ear. She spun in his arms as the song ended, and Erik looked up from the keys to see them kissing.

**Had to put that last part in, otherwise it didn't feel right. Now that I come to it, that's starting to feel slightly cliché-ish.**

**And I put in the last verse b/c I was mad they didn't put it in the movie. Gotta love filmmakers. **

**French: (I really hope not too many people need this anymore)**

**Chante pour moi, mon ange sing for me, my angel **


	11. The Ties That Bind

**Disclaimer: Don't own PotO… just Adrien and Isabella…**

**Chapter XI – The Ties That Bind**

Erik cleared his throat, and Isabella and Adrien broke apart. "Very nicely done," he said, standing from the bench. "I was surprised you brought the notes down an octave, but the nice touch at the end saved you."

He smirked at them and swept elegantly from the room.

Adrien looked at Isabella nervously. That kiss had been an impulsive thing, not something they were planning. When she'd spun around, she was so close to him… He couldn't resist. Isabella was looking slightly flushed herself. To her, the kiss had somehow seemed right for the moment. She took Adrien's hand and they moved down the hall. He finally broke the uneasy quiet when they reached the underground tunnel.

"Isabella, I'm really sorry about that. I should have shown more self-control."

"Please don't apologize. I thought exactly the same thing you did; that's why I spun around."

"Really?" he turned to look at her in the half-lit passage.

Isabella moved closer to him. "Yes. Adrien, I…"

She trailed off, looking away, but he took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up to his.

"Isabella…" he whispered.

She threw her arms around his neck and their lips met again, harder, more sure than before. It seemed to last forever, but they finally broke apart.

Isabella had never felt this emotion before. "Adrien, I love you," she whispered.

He kissed her again. "I love you, too. I knew it from the moment I saw you. I should have told you every moment since then, but I was too afraid of what Erik would say."

"Would he object?" she asked, allowing him to lead her further down the passage.

"That's just it," he said. "I don't know what he'd do. He could say 'Congratulations', but somehow I don't think that'd happen in a million years; he could take it in and not say anything at all; he could dissolve completely, remembering what happened with Christine; or he could explode, trying to protect me from what happened to him when he loved Christine."

Isabella nodded, though she knew he couldn't see her in the dark.

"Then perhaps we should wait and see what his mood is like before telling him."

Adrien only lit one candelabrum when they entered her room.

"Perhaps you should play tonight," Isabella suggested. "I can't hear Erik playing anything, and I enjoyed having a soothing melody to put me to sleep last night."

The absence of the music made her shiver slightly. Adrien noticed this and said quietly, "Of course I will. That is," he added on a thought, "if Erik will let me near the piano again."

Isabella giggled. "If not, I'll make him let you. You play so wonderfully."

He smiled. "Alright, then. _Bonne nuit, mon ange_."

And he left.

Isabella changed into her nightgown and snuggled under the sheets. A few moments later, she heard the six-bar introduction of _Phantom of the Opera_. Adrien played the beginning part, her part, then went on to sing his own. Isabella was amazed to hear the words, so unlike what they'd sung not fifteen minutes before, but just as beautiful.

"_Ce soir, la scène est mise…_

_Nos chants se mêlent…_

_Ma main, mes mots, ma voix…_

_Je t'ensorcelle…_

_Et si ton doux regard…_

_Se perd parfois…_

_Tu sais que le Fantôme de l'Opéra_

_Est la, en toi…"_

He sang in French, and to Isabella the words were pure magic. She nodded off to sleep wrapped in the cloak of his magnificent song.

**For those of you who are sharper than the rest, you'd ask: Aren't they already singing in French? It is France, after all. And the answer to your question would be yes, they are in France, and I remembered that they would be singing in French halfway through writing the words down. So I said to myself, 'I don't care, and I hope everyone else enjoys it.' **

** French portion of the DVD: Totally rocks! …although Raoul's voice is REALLY strange. Oh well. Fopness. Gotta love it. And for those who are really sharp, there was a reference to Pirates of the Caribbean (Johnny! Orlando!) in there ('I should have told you every day from the moment I met you…')**

**And I'm afraid that's as steamy as it's gonna get. I'm not fond of writing sequences where they actually have sex, so for that reason you will probably never find any in my works. Thanks for understanding! Go cut yourselves with all that sharpness…**

**Until next time… **

**Phantomfreak07**


	12. Trying to Understand

**Disclaimer: I don't own Erik. Adrien and Isabella rock!**

**Review Replies:**

**FFAMasquerade2005: Thanks for reviewing, I'm glad you like it!**

**Utara Mikagami: I'm in French III this year, and it's amazing how much of this stuff I can translate. I'm such a dork -- I copy down the lyrics to a Phantom song in French, then use a Fr.-Eng. dictionary and translate it directly to see how close it is. (See how much of a life I don't have?)**

**Chapter XII: Trying to Understand**

**Her Story**

Adrien woke the next morning to find Isabella sitting on the bed next to him. He sat up suddenly. "What are you doing in here?"

She looked at him as if he were crazy. "I wanted to see if you were awake yet, and then I decided to wait for you. Something wrong?"

"No, it's just…" he ran a hand through his hair, trying to find the right word. "It sort of… startled me, that's all. That you were right here when I woke up."

Isabella looked slightly hurt. "I'll not do that again, then."

She turned to leave. Adrien leapt out of bed and grabbed her wrist. "No, it's not that! I meant it in a good way. It was nice to see you first thing."

She sighed wistfully and he suddenly wondered what she was thinking.

"Are you alright?"

She turned to face him, and Adrien was surprised to see tears glittering in her beautiful grey eyes. "It's all so confusing for me," she said, throwing herself unexpectedly into his shoulder.

"I've never felt this way before… about anyone."

Adrien took her hand and led her back to the bed. They sat down, and she began to tell him her story.

"There's never been anyone in my life that I could love. My parents were shot and killed in a rebellion in Rome. Our family was rich, and we had been on a cruise that went to the Isle of Monte Cristo and then came back down to Rome. I was four at the time, and after their deaths I was taken back home to Salerno. The officials gathered a few of my things, and we rode down the street to a large brick building. A woman showed me a small bed in the corner of a cramped room and said it was mine. I couldn't understand why… none of the other children believed me… I tried to tell them that I was only going to be here for awhile, that my parents had a lot of money and would come to pick me up. They never did, obviously.

"When I turned sixteen, I decided to leave. Signora Severino had been giving me parts of my parents' fortune for the past twelve years, and I had few things to take along. I had learned to read and write, and I thought I'd try my talents in the real world. I desperately wanted to perform for people. So one night, I slipped away and began to follow the roads north. I was able to survive on money until I reached the city of Orbetello. When the money started running low, I would dance or sing for money and food. Not many people took me in because of my appearance, and I found it easier to travel at night most times anyway. It kept away many distractions, like the usual awkward questions…"

Isabella paused, shuddering. Adrien held her hands in his, gazing at her with anticipation and emotion in his eyes. She continued,

"There were a few times on the way to Genova when I feared for my life. I had forgotten how many drunks and… demonic people emerged at night. I remember one man…" she shuddered again, harder this time, "I didn't have enough money to make him happy, and he was drunk besides… he forced me to the ground, and I screamed… louder than I knew I could. I saw a shadow behind him and before I knew it, he was lifted up in the air… He fell back down, dead. I don't know who did it, or how. The shadow was gone when I looked up again. But it was so scary…" she sobbed, falling into Adrien's arms again. "I didn't know what to do."

He stroked her hair, eyes blazing. _Someone had dared to try to rape his angel?_

He could barely find his voice. "What happened after you got away?" he whispered hoarsely.

Isabella straightened slightly and allowed him to wipe the tears from her face.

"Well, it was the strangest thing. When I came into Garessio, I started hearing talk of something going on in Paris, at the Opera House. When I stopped at a café, the townspeople were full of the most outrageous tales. They said there was a ghost in the Garnier Opera that terrorized the ballet girls and made the floors run with blood."

She smiled ruefully at the memory.

"When I reached Monte Carlo, I knew I wanted to go to Paris and see this for myself. At first I had started out to dance there, and then it escalated into a desire to experience this ghost's power. Unfortunately, the people in Monte Carlo dashed my hopes. They told me that all the tales I had heard were true, but that they had happened so many years ago. I asked about the Opera House and they said it was still open to dancers. That gave me a bit of motivation, and I crossed the border into Nice. I don't know how, but the next time I checked my purse I had enough money for almost two train rides! I took the train to Lyon from Cannes, and that took me three days. I ended up staying in Lyon for awhile longer than I had planned, but it gave me time to perfect my French skills. We had been taught some basic French and German at the orphanage, but I knew I'd need more than that.

"A two-day trip brought me into Avallon, and from there I was able to walk to Paris."

Adrien stared at her in mute amazement.

"And then I went to the Opera, and from there I followed Erik, and you know the rest," she smiled.

"You came all this way on your own?" he asked, still not fully comprehending.

"I went hungry a few times, but all during the journey I never found anyone to be friends with. Even in Lyon," she said quietly, "where I stayed for so long. And now… I've found you. And that's what is so scary to me. I've never really felt love before. My parents died when I could barely remember them. I didn't have any friends in the orphanage. There were evil people on the roads…"

"Don't go through it all again," he urged. "Once was enough."

She looked at him through tears again. "I can't believe I found you," she whispered. "It still seems like a dream…"

Adrien held her to himself, comforting. "I'm here… Try to understand… I'll never leave you, Isabella."

**I didn't really have any inspiration for this chapter, then it all just came to me. Like, POOF! It was odd. But hey, any excuse for a good chapter is fine with me! The name Signora Severino is a tribute to my grandmother, who died when I was four. She was Italian and her maiden name was Florence Theresa Severino. **


	13. Hiding the Truth

**Disclaimer: Adrien & Isabella ROCK! Why? CUZ THEY'RE MINE! Erik should belong to me, and would, but… hey, it's not like I haven't _tried._**

**Reviewers: Thanks for reviewing, and if you don't, you'd better start! I take any suggestions and adore praises (who doesn't?)**

**Chapter XIII: Hiding the Truth**

**His Story**

A ways down the passage, Erik sat hunched at the organ in his room. He hadn't slept all night. His eyes were bloodshot, his limbs shaking slightly, and there was blood red ink all over his jacket. Shrugging the coat from his shoulders, Erik put his face in his hands.

_How long should I wait…?_

_Should I tell him now?_

_Should I tell them both?_

His long fingers raked the immaculate black hair in frustration.

Erik rose from the bench and began to pace the room, memories of that day flooding his mind…

FBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFB

Eighteen years ago, Christine had given birth to a son. Erik could still see the gentle smile on her face as she glanced at him across the room. After what felt like the longest time, he had edged to her bedside, curiosity getting the better of him. Erik felt almost ashamed that he was allowed to see this little creation before even the child's own father. Admittedly, Raoul had fallen asleep from guarding the door all night, but Erik couldn't help smiling to himself.

The child in Christine's arms was asleep, and she slowly rocked him, humming Angel of Music. Erik looked at her again and was startled to see worry and sadness in her beautiful eyes.

"Christine…_mon ange,_ what's wrong?" he asked anxiously.

She said nothing, but the melody of her song dissolved into a slow, pleading lament. Erik grimaced as he put words to it; she was remembering that awful night… when they had parted.

A tear slipped down her face and she whispered, "Erik, we can't keep him."

"What are you saying, Christine?" He was at a complete loss.

She turned her gaze on him. "I love him so much but… I can't."

"Christine, you need rest," Erik countered. "Sleep…"

"No, Erik," she resisted his hypnotic voice. "Get Raoul for me. Please?"

He turned at once and swept from the room. Shaking Raoul roughly by the shoulder, he growled, "Your… wife wants to see you."

The younger man instantly leapt up and followed him back inside. Seeing the infant in her arms, he ran to the bed.

"He is… beautiful, Christine." It came out as a hoarse whisper.

She put a finger to his lips and motioned Erik to the other side of the bed.

"I have… made a decision," she said. "And I know you will not like it."

Her steadfast gaze never left Raoul's face, watching for his reaction.

"We… I cannot keep him," Christine whispered, her eyes welling up again.

"What do you mean?" Raoul immediately glared across the bed. "Has this monster now blackmailed you into giving him our son?"

Erik remained silent, his blazing eyes on Christine.

"No, Raoul," she replied. "None of this is Erik's fault. There are… too many old, painful memories for me. This is my fault alone. And how would an opera star have the time to give him the proper attention he needs?" she reasoned.

Erik still sensed Raoul's tense reluctance, but Christine reached out to him and he knelt on the floor beside her. Raoul heaved himself backward into a chair as Christine placed the bundle in Erik's arms.

He could barely hear her words over the pounding of his heart.

"Teach him everything you know, Erik. All your music, your architecture, your magic. You are his godfather, his protector, his mentor. I trust you."

He glanced up and saw her clasping Raoul's outstretched hand.

"Take him home, Erik," she urged quietly. "Go now, before anyone sees you. We will be able to leave in a few hours. Go!"

Erik concealed the infant under his cloak and slipped through the door. Flying through the shadows, he spirited the child back to his underground haven. Only then did he realize that Christine hadn't named her son…

The next few months had been slightly chaotic for Erik, but even at five months old the little one had begun to recognize his compositions. _Don Juan _was too loud and discordant, but songs like _Music of the Night_ and _No One Would Listen_ had put him to sleep every night…

FBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFBFB

Erik launched himself across the chamber, slamming into the wall with a force to shake the entire room. He ran his fingers through his hair again, kneading his forehead with his knuckles.

He took a deep breath, threw open the door and strode to Adrien's room.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adrien and Isabella had heard the thud when Erik hit the wall, and they both stood up, anticipating something further. A minute later, the door flew open and Erik leaned against the frame.

He looked a terrible mess. His white shirt was soaked with sweat and dotted with red ink and his dark hair hung in sunken eyes.

Isabella rushed to him, took his hand and led him to the bed.

"Erik? What's wrong?" She cast a worried glance at Adrien, who hastened to her side.

"Nothing… just memories," he sighed. "I need to tell you…"

His eyes found Adrien. "What is your earliest memory?"

Adrien's eyes widened. "Erik…"

"Well?" His tone was harsh.

Adrien tried to think. It came to him, a flash of song and color.

"I remember… you, playing the piano. Red silk… it was _Music of the Night_. I asked whom you were playing for, and you… you wept. I think I was around four. I had heard you play before, but I never asked anything until then." He looked at Erik, at the mask covering the old face. "Why do you ask?" He seemed wary.

Erik watched him with unshed tears. "I wanted to know if you remember your parents."

Adrien shook his head slowly. "I remember you saying my mother was an opera singer… That's all. Was she a famous singer?"

Erik chuckled darkly. "The most famous the Opera House ever knew. Your mother was Christine Daae, the Vicomtesse de Chagny."

**...Yeah, like you all hadn't guessed it anyway. This chapter seems too soap opera-ish, but that's my fault. Oh well… the story needed it. Hope you enjoy! **

**FB flashback **


	14. The Sign of the Rose

**Disclaimer: D'you know how much I hate this? I've said it before, but if I had created PotO, I wouldn't be writing out my fantasies on a website, I'd be living in NYC, flying around the world so I could watch the performance in a different city each night.**

**Chapter XIV: The Sign of the Rose**

Adrien stared into Erik's amber eyes, trying to process what he'd just said.

"Christine… _Your _Christine? The Christine you play for every night? The Christine whose gowns hang in the back of the closet? The Christine…" he broke off, shuddering a little. "The Christine you kidnapped, the Christine who left you?" he whispered.

Erik nodded once.

"How did… are you my real father?" Tears grew in Adrien's eyes as he attempted to sort out his life.

This time, Erik shook his head slowly.

"Your father is the Vicomte de Chagny," he said heavily, a trace of distaste in his words. "I believe Isabella mentioned him a few days ago, when she told us of how she arrived here."

He glanced at Isabella, who nodded, following along with the story.

"But that still doesn't explain why you raised Adrien and not the Vicomte and Christine," she said.

Erik sighed. "It was Christine's decision. Raoul didn't want me to –

"And for a good reason, too!" Adrien burst out suddenly. "He was my father, he cared about me!"

Erik flinched, and Adrien was instantly sorry for his outburst. In that moment, Erik looked the way Adrien had never dreamed of seeing him: old, weary, wrinkled, even vulnerable.

He spoke in a quavering voice. "Christine gave you to me, and I raised you. Go now… find the Vicomte, if you so desire… I shall be out for the day."

He strode abruptly from the room, leaving them staring at each other in his wake.

Adrien's eyes turned to the wall, where a portrait of Christine had hung for as long as he could remember.

Everything seemed more accentuated. Her eyes were deeper, her hair darker, the dark blue gown that she wore contrasting with the pale complexion of her skin. A rose lay across her lap, barely open and tied with a black ribbon – Erik's signature.

Adrien remembered when he had watched Erik sit and paint for hours, fallen asleep, and woke to find Erik still painting. He had seen Degas, Monet, and Picasso art and noted that all the artists signed their names.

Returning to Erik, he had asked, "Why don't you sign your work?"

And Erik had replied, "If you see anything under the sign of the rose, it is mine."

He had then taken Adrien to a room full of paintings and sketches, and always somewhere in the picture there was a rose with black ribbon. It became a sort of game, every day after; Adrien went through all of Erik's work, looking for the roses.

Looking at the rose now, Adrien realized it was more than a signature – it was a symbolic reference to the life Erik had once had. The rose was in every picture, and every picture was of Christine.

"Come with me," he said suddenly, taking Isabella's hand. They went to the room with Erik's portraits, and Isabella was taken aback by how many there actually were. Portraits hung from the walls, sketches strewn across desks and scattered over another, smaller piano.

"He… he did all of these?" she asked.

Adrien nodded. "And now I understand why."

Isabella was still taking in the different colors and outfits, the facial expressions and poses. There were pictures of the Masquerade, the Hannibal gala, and the infamous Don Juan Triumphant. Here, she was crying and scared. There she looked contented, happy even.

"He did all of these?" she repeated. "Why?"

"It was the only way he could truly be with her, all the time," he answered.

Isabella turned to him, and Adrien's eyes shone brightly with unshed tears.

"She was the only thing he ever truly wanted… and he was denied even that."

His head bowed, sobs wracking his body. Isabella embraced him, clearing away the tears.

"He still has you," she whispered softly. "He still has you."

Adrien grew hard once more and, lifting his head, said, "Let us go to the Vicomte."

**The whole 'sign of the rose' was a reference to one of my favorite books, The Da Vinci Code. (soon to be a movie! Spring 2006!)**


	15. Author's Note you should read!

**Author's Note:**

**Okay all, I'm really sorry about this, but I have to postpone the posting sprees indefinitely. I've got 3 really LOW grades that need to be brought up, and until then I'm (needless to say) grounded from the computer. I'll be back on hopefully by next month, and I'll still put up a 'review' of HPGOF on my profile for you to check out!**

**Your obedient servant,**

**Phantomfreak07**


	16. The Reunion

**Disclaimer: You all know by now I don't own Phantom, but I'll give the mods the benefit of the doubt and say they haven't read any previous chapters. Therefore, I once again do NOT own Phantom of the Opera. …This story is progressing nicely though, don't you think?**

**I'M BAAAAAAACK!**

**...for awhile, anyways...**

**Thanks to all of you guys for patience, reviews, everything!**

**Chapter XV: The Reunion**

Isabella ran to her chamber to dress before accompanying Adrien into the city. Surprising, she thought as she pulled on a light blue dress, how she barely missed the world above. It felt as though she had been here all her life, when in reality it was only three days. She didn't miss the sunlight (which surprised her as well), for music had become her light in darkness.

_Living down here with them, especially with Erik, makes me feel free, cared about, and even… poetic, to an extent._

Isabella had not been able to get the memories of singing with Adrien out of her mind. They had become one, their voices entwining and merging together. And it had sounded so… perfect.

Enveloping herself in a midnight blue cloak, Isabella shook her head to clear her thoughts and hurried down the passageway.

Adrien looked up from fastening his black silk cravat and smiled at her in the mirror. She walked up behind him and flung her arms around his neck. "What are you going to say when we get there?"

"I was just thinking about that, as a matter of fact," he smiled wryly. Isabella leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed. "Do you know where he lives?"

Adrien fought the urge to roll his eyes. The Château de Chagny was one of the biggest châteaus in Paris, not far from the Opera House, and very difficult to miss.

Instead he answered, "I've passed it a few times."

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Twenty minutes later the two of them were climbing out of a taxi in front of the Château de Chagny.

Isabella caught her breath as she turned to stare at it in wonder. "I've never seen anything so big and glamorous… Well, except perhaps the Opera House or the Coliseum," she added on an afterthought.

She took Adrien's arm and they walked up the garden path. He turned to her before knocking on the door. "Do you think he'd remember you, from the other day?"

"No, I don't think he ever saw me… But if he did, I look so different now anyways," she said. True, she had a gorgeous dress, new shoes, and had cut her hair a little.

Adrien smiled and knocked on the door.

A servant answered a moment later, and Adrien said, "We would like to speak with the Vicomte de Chagny, _s'il vous plait_."

The man nodded. _"Un moment."_

"_Merci."_

He returned a few seconds later and bowed them in. "He will receive you in the library. Follow me, if you please."

He led them down a hallway filled with portraits and exquisite light fixtures. Isabella bit her tongue to keep from gasping over the classic Degas paintings. _These could quite probably be his original works!_

She was accustomed to Da Vinci and Raphael, but Degas… he was special.

The servant pushed two heavy oak doors wide, revealing an enormous room filled with books, a fireplace, and a large coffee table with three leather armchairs and a sofa around it.

The elderly Vicomte rose jerkily from his chair and nodded to his servant, who bowed himself out and shut the doors again.

Adrien and Isabella proceeded to greet the man; he shook Adrien's hand and kissed Isabella's. He regarded the pair with a wary eye as they settled on the small couch.

"Now, what was it that you wished to meet with me about?" His voice was almost tired, but his bright eyes betrayed it.

"Well sir," Adrien started, but he trailed off, not sure how to explain himself.

Isabella glanced at him and began herself. "Sir, we live near the Opera House and… well, it is strange, I doubt you'll believe it… But we have reason to believe that—

"That I am your son." Adrien had found his voice and now watched the Vicomte tensely.

The old man's face clouded over and he shook his head. "My dear boy, I once had a son, no doubt of that. However, if you think you can just waltz into my home and call yourself my son, then you are wasting your time and insulting me at the same time. I am too old for this, and I do realize that this should make me an easy target for people who want to take advantage of my wealth and status. I will not have it, I tell you! Now, be gone from here!"

He stood, anger etched in the wrinkled features. "Go on, now, out!"

"Please sir, you don't understand!" Adrien stood too.

"If you will, please listen to us for a moment," Isabella added. "And… I had a question, for curiosity's sake."

The Vicomte heaved himself back in the chair, legs supporting him no longer. "Well, get on with it."

"What happened to your son?"

His smile was mirthless. "I doubt you would believe me if I told you, mademoiselle."

"Please, sir?" Adrien sat again as well, calming himself enough to listen.

Raoul sighed. "Fine… My son… he was stolen from me."

"Did your wife run away with him?"

"Confound it, girl, let me finish!"

Adrien laid a hand on her shoulder in comfort and nodded courteously.

He continued, "No, she gave him to that… that monster."

At this, Adrien's other hand clenched in a fist and he asked through gritted teeth, "Who was it?"

Raoul glared at a point over Adrien's shoulder. "The Phantom of the Opera."

Isabella decided not to play the story out. "That means, then, that Adrien really is your son!"

"What do you mean?"

Adrien sighed. "The Phantom—_Erik_—told us about this."  
"What are you talking about? That man _killed_ my son! He swept him off to his dungeon to torture myself and Christine for the rest of our lives! That's why she died so young, she couldn't take it!"

"Please, Vicomte, you are wrong!" Adrien's voice blazed with frustration that the man did not understand. "Erik may have taken me that night, but he raised me as his own! From the way he tells it, that's what Mother… that's what Christine wanted!"

Raoul glared daggers at him. "Then why do you call her Christine, eh? What was wrong with Mother, it had a nice sound, no?"

Adrien stared back. "I've been without a mother for eighteen years, it does not feel proper calling her that when I have only heard 'Christine' all my life. Erik always talked about her… He played for her every night… He missed her so, but he had me! Please… try to understand…"

Raoul sat for a moment, then asked slowly, "Adrien, that's it?"

"Sir?"

"Your name," he growled. "He called you Adrien, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

The Vicomte's eyes welled with tears. "We always wondered what—if anything—he had named you. My son…"

He threw open his arms, and Adrien rose from the sofa to embrace him.

"It was only hours after you were born, too… I despised Christine's decision… I would not speak to her for a month after it happened, I thought she might still be in love with him after all those years…"

Adrien wept as well, and Isabella was moved to tears watching the reunion.

At that moment, the servant returned with a tray of tea and biscuits. He stumbled, seeing their faces, and asked, "Monsieur, shall I wait for you? I am sorry to have interrupted…"

Raoul gestured him over. "No, no, Samuel, please, bring it here. We need refreshments now, there is much to talk about."

Samuel nodded and set the tray on the table. "As you wish, sir."

Adrien returned to sit beside Isabella as they began to catch up on each others' lives.

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**Sorry about the ending, I just wanted it to be happy. If you didn't like it, wait for the next chapter is all I can say. Samuel doesn't play that major of a part, I just came up with him off the top of my head when I was writing this. R+R!**


	17. Le Retour

**Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom, but I'm gonna see how many more chapters I can give this story before calling it to an end. Thanks to all my reviewers! Love ya!**

**Chapter XVI: Le Retour**

The three of them sat and talked for almost the entire afternoon. It wasn't until Samuel finally interrupted, saying it was getting close to dinner, that Adrien realized he'd all but forgotten about Erik. Isabella took his arm and they walked into the dusky evening.

Adrien hailed a cab. "The Rue de Rivoli, _s'il vous plait_," he said, helping Isabella in.

Isabella gave him a quizzical look. "Why don't you just say—

She broke off, remembering that his home was no château.

He smiled ruefully.

A few minutes later, they arrived at the corner of the Rue de Rivoli and the Rue Scribe. Adrien tipped the driver, nodded his thanks, and took Isabella's hand as they walked off down the street.

"Why do you live… underground?" Isabella asked, voicing a question that had sat in her brain for a few days.

Adrien pondered for a moment. "Erik told me that… well, you know he lived in the Opera House for nigh on twenty years or so. That lasted until 1870. In 1871, the Commune terrorized Paris and overthrew the government. They used the Opera as a main setup building. It's said that there were millions of executions down in the lower catacombs, leaving the tortured bodies down there to…"

"Rot?" she supplied, slightly pale.

He nodded. "When they first took over and set up their government, no one knew Erik was down there. He'd retreated from the world after _Don Juan_. So they started bombing the hell out of the Opera House, because the red Commune flag was such a perfect target. Erik saved what he could carry and found the place we live in now. He said sometimes others would come down and stay for awhile, just to escape the bombing. Eventually, they had to leave to get food and such. Erik himself didn't really have that problem: he could survive on very little and stay awake for weeks on end."

"If that's not a ghost, I don't know what is," Isabella smiled.

Adrien helped her descend the stone steps. "So he bought a new piano after the move, and then one night I assume he heard about Christine and went to the hospital to see her. And ended up getting more than he bargained for," he added, a grin flitting across his handsome features.

Isabella laughed. "You're not _that_ bad," she teased.

As they made their way further into the tunneling house, they picked up the discordant sounds of Erik's grand piano.

Adrien stopped for a moment, listening. "I don't recognize that one," he said, walking faster.

Isabella hurried to keep up, surprised by Adrien's attitude. "Doesn't he ever work on new compositions?"

"Not usually. Let's find out."

**A/N: 'Le Retour' means 'the return'. I hope some of you have watched the French version of PotO in that respect. If not, GO DO IT. It's wonderful, although it may take some getting used to. **


	18. The Dark Angel's Inspiration

**Disclaimer: I don't own PotO. _Merci._**

**Chapter XVII: The Dark Angel's Inspiration**

The pounding notes grew louder as Adrien and Isabella hurried through the rooms. And then, as suddenly as it had grown, the music became quiet, gentle, and flowing.

"Erik?" Adrien called.

The music stopped. _"Ici."_

"_Oui, nous savons,"_ Adrien laughed.

Erik turned on the bench as they came in, his eyes brightening.

"Did you get some sort of profound inspiration while we were away?" Isabella took in the sheets scattered on the floor and the ink splotches all over his hands.

Erik smirked. "You'd be surprised, _mademoiselle_."

She sat down on the bench facing Adrien, her back to Erik. "Where did this one come from?"

He hesitated before answering. "Actually… the two of you."

Adrien, on the verge of heading to get a drink, did a double take. "Did I hear that correctly?"

"Yes… this is called The Troubled Paths. It's from what I know about both of you."

Isabella couldn't figure out any way Erik would have known about her except –

"Did you hear what I was telling Adrien the other day?"

He turned to her. "No, I was down the hall and too overcome by my own thoughts to be thinking of what you were doing."

"Then how…?"

His eyes softened. "_Ma chère,_ I killed him."

"Killed… who?"

"That man… on that dark night outside Genova."

She gasped, remembering. "How… What?"

Adrien's gaze, too, had clouded over in an effort to understand what Erik was saying.

The old man sighed.

"I had been visiting the company of an old friend in Italy. Giovanni had first introduced me to architecture and design. I was curious to see if his company had built any more grand pieces for my inspection, and so I stayed for a few days.

"When I traveled, I was careful to go quickly and quietly at night, to avoid… distractions. On the second night of my departure, I heard a scuffling in the bushes near the road, and then a bloodcurdling scream. I burst into a clearing to find a drunk nearly flattening a girl, and my rage and instinct took over. Before any of us knew what had happened, I whipped my lasso over a tree and around his neck, lifting him into the air. When I could hold it no longer, I dropped him; dead.

"I would have stayed with the girl longer, but upon reaching Genova I heard the news of Christine's death. I hastened back to pay my respects."

Isabella regarded him through tear-filled eyes. "My dark angel…"

He turned back to the piano and began to play. The music soared from quiet roots, enveloping them all in tales of heartbreak, loss, confusion and love.

When The Troubled Paths was finished, the melody evolved smoothly to the now well-known Angel of Music.

_Wandering childJeune innocente_

_So lost, so helplessPerdue, perplexe_

_Yearning for myTu n'attendais_

_GuidanceQue moi_

_Angel or father,Ange ou saveur,_

_Friend or phantom,Fantôme ou père,_

_Who is it thereQui me regarde_

_Staring?Ainsi?_

_Have you forgotten your Angel?Te souviens-tu de ton Ange?_

_Angel, oh speakAnge de grâce,_

_What endless longingsVas-tu répondre_

_Echo in thisTant de questions_

_Whisper?M'agitent_

_Too long you've wandered in winterTu languissais sans comprendre_

_Far from my fathering gazeLoin du regard paternel_

_Wildly my mind beats against youSoit, mon esprit vous résiste_

_You resist…Tu te bats…_

_Yet the soul obeys!Mais ton coeur chancelle!_

_Angel of music,Ange de musique,_

_You denied me,Ton âme est a moi,_

_Turning from trueC'est ce que tout_

_Beauty!Te dit!_

_Angel of music,Ange de musique,_

_My protector,Vous, mon guide,_

_Come to me, strangeQuand viendrez-vous_

_Angel!Cher Ange?_

**Hope you like this one, I wanted to tie up that loose end. I'm not sure how many more chapters there'll be; let me know if you have any ideas!**

**Phantomfreak07**


	19. Madness

**Disclaimer: I don't own PotO. _Merci._ Hope this chapter goes over well.**

**Chapter XVIII: Madness**

Neither Adrien nor Isabella had noticed that Erik's mood was somewhat strained that evening as he played the new composition for them. This didn't help his frame of mind one bit, and he spent the entire night up pacing in circles through the labyrinthine tunnels. At one point he found himself walking in absolute blackness, and had to tell himself to open his eyes.

"Why?" he hissed, driving a fist against the solid stone wall. _Why everything? Why am I like this? Why am I a genius, but I can't tell anyone because they all despise me? Why are these two –teenagers- in my life? Why is it that they understand music more than anyone I've ever met? Why did I rescue her from that drunk in Italy? Why did I agree to foster him as a son? Why did she ask me in the first place? Why did she ever toy with my love for her to begin with, all those years ago? Why did they have to find out that Raoul is still alive? And why,_ a growl escaped his throat at the thought, _why do I get the feeling that they aren't happy here anymore? What else is there in this world to be taken from me?_

Erik ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. "I will have answers," he promised himself.

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Adrien and Isabella spent the night awake as well, their minds full of Erik's new concerto and the discussion with Raoul earlier that day.

"What are you going to do?" Isabella asked. "Raoul looked like he could use someone to take care of him besides Samuel—

"I can't leave Erik alone either," Adrien argued. "He would fall apart. If I went to help Raoul, he might even try to kill the viscount."

"Point," said Isabella, adjusting her nightgown. "But we have to do something."

Adrien sighed, changing the subject. "Erik's new piece was really impressive."

"It was amazing… I could feel myself reaching out in the song, in a way," she looked up at him. "Like a part of me was actually there in the music."

He eyed her in surprise. "_Moi aussi._ Erik somehow combined us in that song. He is a true magician to pull something like that out of his fedora."

Isabella laughed. "That reminds me… do you know if the opera is going to be repaired at all?"

"I haven't heard anything. Why?"

She bounded up. "Because I've just had a wonderful idea! We need to find Erik!"

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Erik whipped around at the sound of voices in the tunnel. He was quickly swallowed by the shadows; whoever it was had brought a light.

"Erik, are you here? It's us, we have an idea!" Thank God. He was only being paranoid again.

Erik stepped from the darkness two feet in front of them and the girl jumped.

"Well, what is it?"

Adrien laid a hand on her shoulder, and she spoke. "Do you know if the opera will be repaired?"

He shrugged. "Probably."

"Well… could we maybe go back and repair it?"

"Why?"

"So we could… live there. Like you used to."

He recoiled as a barrage of memories assaulted him: Christine's dressing-room mirror, taking her into the lair, and… rejection. Humiliation. For the last time.

"No."

Isabella looked dejected to have her idea shot down so suddenly.

"Why not?"

Erik sighed heavily. "There are too many memories for me to want to go back there."

Adrien wasn't willing to give in so easily. "In that case… shall we, that is to say, Isabella and I, move in with the Vicomte?"

Erik flinched and glared at him. "I knew this would happen," he hissed venomously. "I knew that if you ever saw him you would turn to him and not come back to me!"

"Erik, he needs someone—

But a demonic light had come into Erik's eyes, and he advanced menacingly on Adrien. "Traitor," he snarled, whipping out the Punjab lasso.

Isabella gasped. "Erik, no! He's your son!"

Erik stilled, turning his burning gaze on her.

"I'm sorry…"

Adrien relaxed the hand that he had been raising slowly to his face, and Isabella sighed in relief.

"…that it has to end this way!" Erik roared, flinging the lasso around Adrien's neck.

"No!" Isabella screamed. "Erik, please! I love him!"

He froze, pivoting slowly.

"What?"

Isabella was sobbing. "Erik, I love him. Please, give us a chance."

His eyes narrowed and he tightened the lasso. "And why should I do that?"

"Because… because you care about us."

Erik's eyes widened as suddenly as they had narrowed. He blinked, looking around at Isabella. It was a long, tense moment as he turned to Adrien and stared into his eyes. Adrien stared back, pleading silently for the demons inside Erik to be vanquished by Isabella's words.

At last Erik spoke. "Yes, I care about you. And it is for that reason that I will allow the opera to be rebuilt."

Adrien tugged the lasso over his head. "Erik, you had us scared to death. What happened?"

He sighed heavily. "I've been keeping my demons at bay for too long, instead of confronting them. Ever since Christine died, in fact." He gestured at Isabella. "And the girl has a way with words."

She smiled, resting her head on Adrien's shoulder. "Erik, I know this is probably a bad time, but… when we went to visit the Vicomte… well, he's old, and not as capable anymore as you. Do you think we – that is, Adrien and I – could look after him?"

Erik had tensed at the mention of Raoul. "You would still… come back every night?"

"Of course. No one could take your place, Erik, no matter how hard they tried!" she smiled.

He pondered a moment longer, just to stall. "Oh, all right," he huffed, seeing her impatient look.

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**A/N: Probably one or two more chaps after this one. I'm getting ready to end it, but I wanted to throw in how close to insane Erik is getting, especially now that he's older. Hopefully it won't end on a bad note!**

**Phantomfreak07**


	20. The last AN but it's important!

**Hey all, I just wanted to let you know that the stories are on hold until Easter. I've got ideas, I swear I do, (and Guide & Guardian is almost finished! Yea!) but I'm giving up for Lent.**

**FYI: Lent: Catholic period of 40 days before Easter, beginning on Ash Wednesday, and we can't eat meat on Fridays and we have to give up something for the entire period of said 40 days. sigh sometimes I despise my religion's traditions. O well. But I promise, when I come back, I'll have updates for everything!**

**PS: I would update now but I'm grounded AGAIN so… hopefully sometime in the VERY NEAR future that curse will be removed. There is always hope.**

**Don't give up on me yet, guys!**

**Phantomfreak07**


	21. The Chandelier

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own Phantom of the Opera, I own my own characters. Enjoy._

**A/N: Hey guys! I know I said I'd publish after Lent, but I got all the chappies done early! Yea me! so I'm putting them all up now, enjoy!**

**This is a long chapter, so I apologize in advance if you don't like the time skips. But otherwise, this would take up two chapters and I'm hoping to finish it in the next one.**

**Chapter XIX – The Chandelier**

Isabella shivered happily. They were going to rebuild the opera! She could finally achieve her dream of being on the stage.

"Erik," said Adrien tentatively, "how can we rebuild the opera without drawing much attention to ourselves?"

Erik waved a hand dismissively. "A majority of the old workers still live in the area, and Madame Giry is quite discreet. I'll send a message along to her immediately."

Without further ado, he swept back down the deserted corridor.

The reality of the setting flooded back into Isabella's senses. They were standing in a dark passage with one lantern, and it was probably close to 2 am.

Adrien smothered a yawn. "So, shall we go to bed or figure out a way to help Erik?"

She didn't give it a second thought. "Come on!"

They burst into Erik's study to find him sealing an envelope with his traditional skull stamp.

Isabella was floored. "You're done already? It was only five seconds!"

"No, indeed," he smiled. "This is for something else."

Ten minutes later, he'd finished the note:

_My dearest Antoinette,_

_This is a matter of utmost discretion and urgency. We have decided to rebuild the opera, and require your assistance. Gather as many of the old workers as you can find and offer them the position of aiding a noble cause. Your place as ballet mistress will be restored. I shall fund the project, perhaps with some aid from the Vicomte de Chagny if necessary. I will be in touch again soon._

_Fondest regards,_

_O. G._

Isabella smiled. "O.G. forever and for always."

Erik shrugged good-naturedly. "Old habits die hard, I'm afraid."

"I'll deliver it now, if you want," said Adrien, striding over to the desk.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Twenty minutes later, Adrien stood outside a small flat, his cloak whipping in the wind.

He knocked quietly on the door. "Madame?"

It was answered by a woman in her early fifties.

"Monsieur?" she said warily, all trace of sleepiness vanished.

"Pardon the hour, but I'm asked to deliver this to a Madame Giry."

"Oh…" her eyes turned to pools of grief as she took the letter from him. "Please come in, won't you?"

He obliged and stepped over the threshold into what would normally be a very modest little home. it was strewn with clothes and boxes, and smelled of dead roses.

"I'm terribly sorry about the mess, sir. My life has been rather hectic for the past few weeks, with…"

She turned to him with a weakly pasted smile. "I'm Meg Giry."

He nodded and shook her hand. Cold, just beginning to show the knots of age.

"Adrien."

She eyed him, waiting for a surname, and he smiled.

"Just Adrien, is all."

She looked sadly at the envelope in her hands.

"My mother – I assume the Madame Giry you were told to deliver this to – is no longer here. She… died, three weeks ago."

Adrien was thrown. "What happened?"

Meg looked equally surprised. "Natural causes. But it's been all over the papers since, haven't you seen?"

Adrien shook his head slowly. "I'm so sorry." He moved toward the door.

"So I was packing away all of her things, and I've decided to move to the Loire Valley since the opera burned down. You do know about that, right?" she asked teasingly.

He rolled his eyes. "Who in Europe hasn't?"

He suddenly wheeled around. "Hang on, do you remember the opera ghost?"

Meg shivered in girlish delight. "Oh, he scared us all out of our wits, but it was quite entertaining with all the gossip. Why do you ask?"

"Well… from what I could gather from the context, I think the note could be meant for you as well. Especially seeing as how your mother has passed on."

She gave him a quizzical look and read through the letter, her expression turning from delight to confusion and wonder.

"O.G.?" she whispered, the old fear coming back into her eyes. "He's still alive?"

"Indeed."

"But… he vanished the night of the fire."

"That he did. But he's always been here, in Paris."

She read the letter through again.

"This would not be so hard to accomplish. Most of the people he speaks of still live in the vicinity."

"And would you… I mean, are you able to fill the ballet mistress position?"

"Oh, yes," she chuckled. "I still stretch every day, I'm not that old, boy!"

He laughed. "Alright then, I should go so you can get some sleep."

She followed him to the door. "Thank you so much, Adrien. You'll return, won't you?"

"Of course."

He walked down to the street and hailed one of the few passing cabs.

"Rue de Rivoli, please."

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"Did you make certain Antoinette read the note?"

Adrien shot him an uneasy glance.

"Erik, I… Antoinette is dead."

Erik froze. "What?"

"Natural causes, three weeks ago," he said quietly, eyes on the floor.

"Who told you?"

"Her daughter."

Erik smiled a little, remembering her.

"Ah, yes. Dear little Meg, always gossiping. She must be much older now than I recall. How is she?"

Adrien shrugged, yawning again. "She's well, she was talking about moving south because Antoinette's gone and the opera's destroyed. But… I gave her the note and offered her the position."

Erik raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"She wants to help."

"Good. We'll get started in a few days, once I've spoken with her."

Adrien nodded vaguely and stumbled off to bed.

XXX---XXX---XXX

A week later, Erik, Isabella and Adrien stood in the chilly rafters of the Garnier opera, listening to Meg give orders.

"We need to sweep and dust this place from the rafters to the seats (or lack thereof).

"We'll have to reupholster the furniture and make new curtains. Restock the costume department. Repair the stage floor and orchestra pit. Paint the walls, staircase and statues."

Most of the workers held various tools: mops, brooms, plywood, cloth. They nodded vaguely, taking in the full extent of damage to the building. A sudden gust of wind brought several twittering birds through a hole in the roof.

"Half of you will go up to fix that hole, and the other half will sweep and mop the floors. Get to it!" she clapped her hands and people sped in every direction.

Erik's cape swished as he stalked away.

"What are we going to do?" Isabella asked. "Aren't we going to help?"

"Of course. What we're doing is much bigger than any of that."

He gave his cloak a theatrical flourish as they rounded a corner and the other two stopped dead.

"I don't believe it," Isabella whispered.

"The chandelier," breathed Adrien. "We're going to fix it!"

Erik nodded. "_Modernize_ it."

They looked at him strangely, and he elaborated.

"Isabella, you were at the auction. Madame Giry bought the chandelier and had several men wire it for this… _electricity._"

He spat the word in disgust, then went on, sneering.

"But I suppose we must do what we can to keep up with technology."

Adrien whipped the cover off the half-restored pile of gold and crystal, squinting from two inches of dust that rose ominously from the cloth.

"Where do we start?" asked Isabella in a choked voice, waving the filth away.

"Well…" Erik had drawn his cloak over his mouth and now circled the chandelier. "We'll have to use utmost care and caution with it; crystal and gold are very fragile and you can't find them everywhere like you used to. We have to weld the beads into the framework and figure out a way to lift it."

"Couldn't we just lift it now?" she asked. "It's all in pieces, why—"

"We'll have to lift it after we've rebuilt it," Erik explained. "Otherwise, one might cut themselves on a piece of glass. And when it is finished, it should weigh about four tons, even without real candles."

Isabella shrank back. "Oh."

Adrien studied the broken masterpiece. "Perhaps we could have some of the horses lift it for us."

Isabella turned to him. "How?"

"We'd have to use strong ropes, mind you, but if we tie one end to the chandelier and one end to the horses, it might be enough. What do you think, Erik?"

Erik bent down to untangle several lines of beads.

"That may work, but they will have to use utmost caution."

"Naturally," Adrien agreed. "Are we rebuilding it up here?"

"I had planned on it. Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "It will be more difficult to lift from up here, that's all."

Isabella jumped in. "Couldn't we rebuild part of it up here, take it down to the stage level and lift it that way?"

"Most of it is built," Erik replied. "It's been partially rewired already, and we just need to finish that and shine it up a bit. But yes, that would probably work."

Isabella beamed.

------

It took longer to polish the chandelier than Erik had first envisioned, but that was only because they worked at night. Two weeks after Meg had gotten the old hands to start rebuilding the opera, Erik and Isabella stood on the stage floor waiting for Adrien to bring the horses around.

Soon the horses' hooves were heard, clopping quietly through the old backstage area. Isabella gasped in delight as Adrien rounded the corner followed by a team of four horses, expertly holding all their reins.

Erik smoothed the coat of a black stallion. "Oh, Cesar," he whispered softly into the horse's ear, "It's been such a long time, no? But I have need of you again."

Cesar nickered at Erik's hand and became still again as Adrien tied him to the chandelier.

The horses strained against the ropes for all they were worth, and slowly, little by little, the chandelier was lifted from the ground. Isabella smiled in awe as the enormous structure was heaved upwards. It rose higher, almost touching the ceiling, and a short clang echoed through the room. Adrien glanced back and saw that Erik had gone up to the ceiling and attached a huge chain to the chandelier, thus keeping it aloft. He patted Cesar's nose happily. "Well done, boys."

Isabella threw her arms around him. "We did it!"


	22. The Finale

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own Phantom of the Opera, I own my own characters. Enjoy._

**A/N: Well guys, this is it. sniffle it's been fun! I'll probably do an epilogue afterwards, just to close everything up, but after that I got nothin'. Possible sequel, any ideas?**

**Chapter XX: The Finale**

_Six months later…_

Adrien slipped between groups of chattering high-society people, quickly making his way backstage. A gala was being held to celebrate the reopening of the opera house, in his and Isabella's honor. They, in turn, silently honored Erik, for he had been more a part of the structure than anyone could imagine. Two weeks before, an article had appeared in the _Epoque_, simply reading _Erik is dead._

Adrien knew it was their responsibility and their duty to Erik to carry on his legacy, and the story of the fabled Opera Ghost. Since they now owned the opera, he had made certain that Box Five was left vacant, as always, and a rose tied with black ribbon left on the seat of the red velvet armchair in memoriam.

Deftly pulling on a tight, Spanish-styled burgundy jacket, he slipped a black mask over his face. He and Isabella were performing none other than Erik's grand masterpiece, _Don Juan Triumphant._ Of course the media had had a field day with the story already, blaring about how it was during this very opera when the Ghost had stolen Christine away and never been seen again. Why, they asked, would two such young and beautiful owners of the opera dare to tarnish their own reputations by allowing such an outrageous, haunted show to be performed? For no one yet knew that it was Adrien and Isabella themselves who were portraying the Phantom and Christine's characters.

Adrien swept silently from the dressing room and nearly ran into Meg. She gasped and backed away respectfully, even fearfully, yet still managing a smile.

"You look… just like him," she said quietly.

He smirked in response, lips curving sensually beneath the mask, and disappeared in the wings.

Isabella sat at her vanity, chiding herself. This would be her debut show, a dream come true. And as that dream come true, she shouldn't feel at all nervous! But of course, her feelings were quite the opposite of what they should have been. Butterflies danced in her stomach as she fixed a blooming crimson rose in her hair. The dress was an exact replica of Christine's, with wide lace straps and a golden waterfall skirt.

"Oh, Erik," she whispered. "I know you're here, somewhere. Give me the strength to do this for you tonight."

Crossing herself, she stood and exited the room.

Everyone was waiting for the climax, the Point of No Return sequence. Isabella watched as the chorus girls performed flawlessly and without fear, hoping she could do the same. Meg approached her as they waited, handing her a rose tied with black ribbon. Isabella turned to her quizzically. "Did someone give this to you from Erik's box?"

Meg smiled. "Someone gave it to me, my dear, but rest assured that no one has entered the private box."

"Then why…?"

She gasped when she examined it further and discovered a diamond ring tied to the rose. "Did he…?"

Meg nodded. "You must respond."

"But how will I—"

"He'll know," she interrupted, "now go on, it's your turn."

Isabella dropped the rose in her basket with the others and wandered out onto the stage, singing softly. "_No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy… No dreams within her heart but dreams of love…"_

She picked up the rose and examined the ring further without letting the audience see as Adrien entered.

_You have come here_

_In pursuit of your deepest urge_

_In pursuit of that wish which_

_Till now has been silent_

_Silent…_

She shivered and allowed herself to glance at him for the first time. A second later she wished she hadn't, for now it seemed impossible to look away. He was a magnificent sight to behold with his cape draped over one shoulder and his mask gleaming in the firelight.

_I have brought you_

_That our passions may fuse and merge_

_In your mind you've already succumbed to me_

_Dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me_

_Now you are here with me_

_No second thoughts_

_You've decided_

_Decided…_

Oh, how she loved his dark hiss. She rose slowly as he came toward her, his voice taking on a dangerous tone.

_Past the point of no return_

_No backward glances_

_Our games of make-believe_

_Are at an end_

_Past all thought of 'if' or 'when'_

_No use resisting_

_Abandon thought and let_

_The dream descend_

He swept behind her, stroking her long black hair and skimming a hand down her hips.

_What raging fire shall flood the soul? _

_What rich desire unlocks its door?_

_What sweet seduction lies before us?_

_Past the point of no return_

_The final threshold_

_What warm, unspoken secrets_

_Will we learn_

_Beyond the point of no return?_

Adrien kissed her hand and backed away slowly, not daring to take his eyes off her lest she disappear. Her straight black hair, so unlike Christine's curls, shimmered in the light as she smiled at him.

_You have brought me_

_To that moment when words run dry_

_To that moment when speech disappears_

_Into silence_

_Silence…_

_I have come here_

_Hardly knowing the reason why_

_In my mind I've already imagined_

_Our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent_

_Now I am here with you_

_No second thoughts_

_I've decided_

_Decided…_

Isabella gave him a pointed look as she sang, and his mouth opened in shock.

Adrien stared at her, hardly daring to believe what he knew she meant. He barely noticed that his feet moved as they climbed opposite ladders to the raised platform.

_Past the point of no return_

_No going back now_

_Our passion-play has now_

_At last begun_

_Past all thought of right or wrong_

_One final question:_

_How long should we two wait_

_Before we're one?_

_When will the blood begin to race?_

_The sleeping bud burst into bloom?_

_When will the flames at last consume us?_

Adrien could hardly keep himself from racing across the stage and sweeping her off her feet right there. The flames illuminated every curve of her figure, tempting, inviting…

His steps were deliberate, barely suppressing the emotion that was rocking him.

_Past the point of no return_

_The final threshold_

_The bridge is crossed, so stand_

_And watch it burn_

_We've passed the point of no return…_

He spun her in his arms, reminiscent of that night so long ago when they had first sung. As the music drew to a close, he decided on an especially scandalous finish. Isabella seemed to have the same idea. She spun around and their lips met. Her tongue leapt into his mouth and he sighed heavily.

Several audience members gasped as they drew apart, and one woman yelled, "It's the Phantom, back again!"

At this, police erupted from the crowd aiming muskets at the stage. Isabella clung to Adrien's chest in fright. He held her tightly as they flew down to the stage floor on a rope.

"Put your hands up and don't move!" the captain yelled.

Adrien didn't move. "First tell us why all of this is transpiring!"

The man sneered incredulously. "Don't play innocent with us, _monsieur._ You've fooled us for years. It ends now!"

"Yes it does!" Adrien stormed to the edge of the stage and ripped the mask from his face.

The captain gasped. "Monsieur de Chagny! How…"

"Your problem, captain, is that you jump to conclusions much too often," Adrien said, glaring at him.

"But the Phantom…"

"The Phantom is dead," Isabella cried.

"He was a father to me," Adrien added. "Perhaps many of you missed it in the newspaper a few weeks ago, there was only a single line mentioning his passing. But you may now all forget this stupid manhunt! My God, it was almost forty years ago, leave us be!"

Isabella rushed to his side and he kicked a lever in the floor. The trapdoor opened and they fell…

Seven floors beneath the opera, Adrien and Isabella embraced in the darkness.

"Does this mean yes?" he asked, his eyes laughing at her.

She smiled back. "Of course it does."


	23. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own Phantom of the Opera, I own my own characters. Enjoy._

**Epilogue**

Adrien and Isabella married that night, with Raoul and Meg as witnesses.

"Erik would be so proud," said Raoul hoarsely.

Isabella smiled. "He already is."

She and Adrien left the Sacré-Coeur chapel as discreetly as they could, returning to Adrien's château in his carriage.

"So, how did you come by the carriage and château again?" Isabella asked conversationally as they pulled up outside.

He laughed, helping her down. "They were all a wedding present from Raoul."

She smiled, interested. "Does that mean you'll have the title as well?"

He gave her a devilish grin, and she shrieked with laughter as he swept her off the ground and over the threshold. "Someday, yes. But for now, I'm more than content with having you."

She touched his face as heat descended over them.

"I love you… completely."

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**A/N: There it is, guys, all done. If you want me to do a sequel, or if one of you wants to do a sequel, let me know. Also: comments on whether or not I should get it published? Forever your obedient servant,**

**Phantomfreak07**


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